


Secret fear

by Madita1908



Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: 1952, F/M, Fire, Love, Smog, fears, firemagic, pre books, rooted fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24680986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madita1908/pseuds/Madita1908
Summary: It's 1952, and Francis just stole the the magic of fire. He is more that happy about this, but he doesn't know that his girlfriend has a secret.
Relationships: Francis Saint-Germain/Joan of Arc
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hamyheikki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamyheikki/gifts).



> Welcome to this story!  
> @Hamyheikki came up with the idea on discord and sice those two are my favourit couple I had to write it! Hamy helped a lot, so did the server! 
> 
> See you soon for part two!

He’d done it.  
He really had _stolen_ the fire magic from Prometheus.

From the moment he had told her about his idea, she had a bad feeling about it. Of course, she’d known that her boyfriend always needed to stand out of the crowd. The need to stand out was essential for him, and she had learned to accept this during their relationship, but this…. this idea had taken over him in a heartbeat, with no room for real discussion.  
Joan of Arc felt more than uneasy with it — but she couldn’t be in his way.

“I think it’s a brilliant idea”, her boyfriend had told her, “It’ll be fun! I can light up the sky for you any time and camping will be much fun! We will never have to buy matches again! Think about it!” When he was talking about his dream, his eyes lit up with joy and her heart dropped to her stomach.  
_“If you only knew,_ ” she had thought bitterly, but she instead answered: “If you feel like you have to have it, do it.” The tone of her voice had been somewhat distancing.  
“Joan, if you don’t want me to, I tell me so. I see that it makes you uncomfortable,”  
He answered, certainly concerned, his blue eyes suddenly looking worried at her. God, she wished he wouldn’t look at her like this! She couldn’t be I his way! What kind of girlfriend would she be, if wouldn’t support him? Out of a sudden, Joan heard the voice of her mother in her head. _“As a wife, you have to support your husband, Jeannette. You have to support him in every possible way.”_  
“Francis, I accept your decision don’t worry! I know that this is a dream of yours for really long, and I will not be in the way if you can reach it! I am fine with it. All that matters is that it makes you happy.” Joan gave him her warmest smile, hoping he would accept this answer. He did, because he took her in his arms, hugging her tight before he pressed a kiss on her head, mumbling his thanks.

Now, almost 3 weeks after this conversation, he had done it, and she wasn’t prepared for what it would bring for her. She felt like she hadn’t had enough time to prepare herself emotionally for this.  
The past 21 days had rushed by in an instant, and she had isolated herself a little from Francis, who was confused by this. Every day before his departure, he asked her if he was the cause for it.  
_“Yes, yes you are. You are,”_ her mind screamed every time he asked, but she simply answered him, that she was just feeling unwell, maybe even catching the flue. Nevertheless, she didn’t bear to tell him the real reason. She couldn’t tell him why she isolated herself.  
She couldn’t tell him, that fire gave her the heebie-jeebies. It had been hard enough to get use to his aura scent, and even of that he wasn’t aware. Joan of Arc had kept this important fact about her from her boyfriend.

And now — now he was in their garden, trying out his new powers, ruining her hard work by letting the flowers blew up in colourful flames. He was laughing in joy when he was successful with a trick.  
Standing by the window of their bedroom, she was observing him and even smiling a little when he had success. But at the same time, it gave her the creeps every time a flame escaped his fingers.  
Joan felt overwhelmed by her fear and love of Francis. Turning away from the window, she felt the tears rising and soon the tears started to fall down her cheeks. The immortal saint runs a hand over her face before letting her body sank down on the soft mattress.  
_“There is no need to panic, Jeannette. He is not going to hurt you with it”,_ she thought, but her mind raced, offering her scenarios of horrific events in which she might get hurt by fire.

Francis, the Count of Saint Germain had just turned around and gazed up to the window, where his girlfriend had been standing. This sudden change of her behaviour hurt him, and he wasn’t sure how he could pick up the topic.

Since he was back, she had changed even more. Before he had left, she had loved to spend time with him, but now she seemed like she was avoiding him. Their favourite thing at home had been spending time together in front of the fireplace, roasting bread and telling old stories. He loved to hear stories from her childhood, and he in return told her about his adventures. And now… now, she would sit on the sofa, far away from the fireplace _and_ him. One day, they have decided to spend a cosy evening, he showed off his new skills, inflaming the wood with a snipping motion of his finger. Concentrating on the wood, he hadn’t noticed how she winced and turned away.

On that evening, they were sitting on the sofa, watching one of those strange new things called _TV show_ , when Joan suddenly bent over, moaning and holding her left foot as the cramp build up.  
Immediately, Francis leaned to her, placing a hand on her lower back. “What's it, my love?”  
Joan stiffened at his touch. “It’s a foot cramp...” She tried to stretch her toes, but it didn’t work. The cramp just worsened and moved up her leg.  
Francis immediately had an idea. “Let me help you, my dear”, he offered.  
“No, no, it’s fine, really”, she said quickly, way too quickly, through gritted teeth.  
“Joan, it’s troubling you. Please let me help you. A few weeks ago, you hadn’t had a problem with me helping you with that”, he sounded wounded and took his hand way from her back.

Hearing the pain in his voice, Joan felt sorry for Francis. “I am sorry”, she mumbled, “Uh, is your offer still up?” she turned her head and looked at him.  
“Of course,” Francis smiled, leaning back and patting his thighs to signal that she should put her leg up. It took her a moment to actually do it.  
Slowly, Francis pulled off her socks and gently started to massaging her foot. Silently, he moved his fingers over her foot. But the cramp didn’t disappear. “May I try something?” Francis gently asks, and tried to stand her suspicious gaze. “I swear, by the grave of Nicholas Flamel, that I am not going to hurt you.”  
Joan lowered her gaze. There was no way to get out of this situation right now. The immortal felt like she couldn’t reject him, not without hurting his feelings. This could lean up to the end of their relationship. And this was a thing she didn’t want. _“You have to get over your fear. He won’t hurt you!”_ She gently nodded her head, trying to relax. _“You have gone to worse. He is not going to hurt you! Don’t be a baby, Jeannette!”_  
“I will only heat my hands up,” Francis said, and she smelled his aura, observing her as he rubbed his hands together, “It’s like I warm my hands in front of the fire, you remember it, don’t you?”  
“Yes”, Joan whispered and avoided his gaze. She kept her lips together, as he touched her foot, expecting it to hurt, but to her surprise, he had not lied. It didn’t feel as weird as she had expected it.  
Carefully, Francis traced his girlfriends’ foot with his thumps, massaging it with a gentle pressure while avoiding her tickly spots. They were silent for some time, listening to the program as suddenly the show ended. Both immortals looked up, only to see that the news studio image appeared.

_“Flash news! The number of deaths caused by the great smog has risen to 4,000 people. At moment the UK’s government tries to stay calm, asking residents to stay inside. Authorities say, that this smog might be worse than the 1866 Cholera outbreak.”_

Absently, Francis continued to rub her feet, eyeing the TV with a shocked look on his face. They had friends in London; mortal and immortal and for weeks they were waiting for news by them, but there hadn’t been one.  
“This is unbelievable”, the count kneading the foot with more pressure, his fingers slightly heating up. “Don’t they see that people need more help than that?” Francis was in his own mind as soon as he saw the news. Joan could tell that by his stare, the absentees in his voice. The saint felt most uneasy. Slowly, she tried to free her feet from his grip, as his hands heated up even more. It made her unwell, feeling the burning heat, breaking up some old memories. “Francis, would you please—“, she tried to get his attention, but he wasn’t listening. He was back in 1943, when he had been based in Hamburg, during the Operation Gomorrah. Back then, the count saw many people die in the fire and smoke, and the smog just reminded him of this horrific event.  
“The people can’t breathe! They are going to die! How stupid is the government!?” The count yelled at the TV.  
And then, he lost the control of his magic completely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Hamy, for the review and kuddo!  
> thanks to Ellen for the idea what could've triggered Francis.
> 
> Have fun with this :)

Before he even noticed what had happened, Joan started to scream, again leaning over to lose his fingers around her foot. The smell of burning meat was already in her nostrils, and she started to panic. The smell grew stronger and the panic grew with every second. Images build up in front of her eyes, and Joan finally tore her foot away from Francis. She was up within a heartbeat, stumbling away from him in blind fear. Her mind raced as she reached the nearby chair.

Coming back from his memories, Francis jumped up as he saw Joan stumbling away. It took him a moment to realize that he just had hurt her. God, that hadn’t been his plan!  
“Joan”, he shouted in shock, as he saw how she held her foot. He moved closer, reaching out for her, but she shook her head.  
“Don’t come closer!” she yelled at him, her body language defensive. She was driving away from reality, driving in to her memory deeper, where she was standing on her very own stake, the flames burning her legs. It had been the exact same feeling back then, when her executioner had lit up the wood at her feet.  
Now, this had happened in her _safe_ environment, in her home, and she felt as it was breaking apart around her with every painful throb in her wounded foot.  
“Please, Joan”, he said gently, “Let me take a look at it! I can help you!” Francis moved a little closer.  
“NO! Stay where you are!” her voice was angry, and Francis knew that it would be better to give her the space. So, he sat down where he was standing, observing her, trying to analyse what was going on with her. She had kind of panic attack, he could tell, but he never saw her having one. In the two years of relationship, it had never come that far. The count had seen her desperately, crying and even angry, but he never saw her like this…

Joan was crouching on the chair, her gaze wide in horror. Her body was trembling, and she held her hurt foot almost to tight in her hands, pressing them onto the burned area. Her lips moved without revealing a sound, and he could only guess the words. Tear were falling from her eyes, and she didn’t seem to care about them.

Francis wasn’t sure what exactly he could do for her. She wouldn’t allow him to touch her, not now and no words could express how he felt about his mistake. So the immortal count just sat down, quietly, his eyes glued to the coffee table.

Minuets passed and Joan tried to calm down.  
The accident has woken memories, which she had tried to bury forever. Joan never really talked to Francis about her almost death. He had known surprisingly much about her, of course he had read about her and heard her story. It first had scared her at first, that he knew so much about her, but it just made their relationship easier. She took it into account that he had never asked about her near death, but now… now might be the time when she had to break that the think to him.  
The woman looked up and bit her lip, searching in her mind for the right words to start.  
“Francis, what has happened?”, she asked calmly, trying to take out the fear of her voice.  
He looked up and their eyes met. He looked miserably at her. “I…. I had a flashback”, he said, “Before I came to Paris in 1943, I was stationed in Hamburg. I survived the bombing”, he explained carefully, “Seeing the smog in London, and the sacred people just reminded me of this. Joan, I really didn’t mean to hurt you!” The words left his mouth like a waterfall.  
“I can't imagine how you must have felt. If I had known that, I would have turned the TV off”, she answered, her empathy for him grow, despite her pain.  
“You couldn’t know what they were going to tell. I should have known that emotions can affect the magic. I am so, so sorry!” He apologized again, small tears started to rise in his eyes.  
“You’re…still learning Francis” was all that she could say. She felt like her memories were nothing compared to his flashback, and she refused her inner voice to start talking about herself. _“Jeannette his memories are fresher. Yours are 521 years old! You should get over it!”_ However, he wouldn’t let drop this hole evening that fast.  
“That is not an excuse for me to hurt you! Joan… I can see that this whole fire magic makes you uncomfortable”, Francis stated, observing her.  
“Francis, no….”, Joan tried to answer, yet Francis silenced her with a finger raise.  
“Jeannette,” The way he used her _real_ name made shiver. No one really had called her this since centuries. Here and there the Flamels used it and Joan had used it herself at some point as a new identity. Francis had never used it.  
“Jeannette, I can see that something is troubling you about this magic. Don’t try to deny it, just listen. You’re distancing you more and more from me. You stopped sitting with me in front of the fire, and I can feel you stiffen at my touch, when I am hugging or kissing you.” His voice was gentle and it didn’t sound like reproaches. He was really caring about her and the tone was more concern than everything.

Joan felt like she betrayed Francis the past seven years. She should have told him about his way earlier and now there was no way of turning back. Oh, this made her sick!  
“Francis, this has nothing to do with you. Nothing with your person, well not really you yourself. I haven’t told you everything about me”, she paused a moment to collect her thoughts, “The minutes I stood on the stake, before Scathach saved me, rooted a fear of fire in me. Not fire in general, mostly fires I can’t control. Like, if someone is holding a torch right beside me, I might panic the person could drop it on me.”

Francis sat there, listening to her as if she was reading the future or telling him something really crazy. His girlfriend was afraid fire! He had drawn out the wildest things that could cause her behaviour. For example, he had thought that she no longer found him attractive, or that she secretly had an affair or was even lesbian, as some immortals claimed, but he hadn't noticed that it was the simple fear of fire. Suddenly it fell from his eyes like scales. He was triggering her fear all the time!  
“Mon Dieu!” The count exclaimed, “Every time I used my aura it must have triggered you! I am such an idiot! Why haven’t I noticed it?!” The tone of his voice was concerned. “Please, be honest with me: Am I triggering you?”

Joan got up, even if her feet reminded her of its injury, and she sat down beside him. She laid a hand onto his. It was normal temperature. “At first, your smell aura triggered me, yes. But I grew used to it quickly. As I said, it’s the fear of fire I can’t control. And the thought and seeing your fingers _producing_ flames is… horrific. It reminds me… of my executioner, who threw the torch onto my stake. There had been already smoke which bit in my eyes and I could only see the light of the fire, not his hand throwing it. I couldn’t tell you this, because I haven’t wanted to destroy your dream.” Her voice had become thick and sad, and while she spoke, she wasn’t looking at him but at their hands.  
Francis was sure that she was crying as he was. They both had kept something from the other, afraid of the reaction of the other one.  
“You could have told me, you know that”, he said after a time, “I am not angry with you, not for this. I just wished you told me about this.” Francis turned his hand beneath her hand and closed it around hers.  
“I am sorry”, she whispered leaning against him, completely overwhelmed by his kindness and love. She sobbed as Francis took her in his arms, raising her chin with his fingers and gently kissing her.  
“Don’t be. We both had our reasons to hid something.” Kissing again, he gave her a loving smile. “If you like, I can help you beating this fear.” He offered her.  
She looked at him for a moment considering her answer. “That would be wonderful”, she answered, smiling too. He hugged her, pulling her onto his lap, careful not to hurt her foot.

“But first, let us take of that foot.”


End file.
